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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841948">Another Ghost Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readerinsertfanfiction/pseuds/Readerinsertfanfiction'>Readerinsertfanfiction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pandora Hearts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, xerxes break is a ghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:27:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29841948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readerinsertfanfiction/pseuds/Readerinsertfanfiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Canterville Ghost’ and Perceval Landon’s ‘Thurnley Abbey’. Nothing scary, but mentions of ghosts and hauntings?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Xerxes Break/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Another Ghost Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The house of Pandora was said to be cursed by a white spectre with a haunting red eye. None who had entered had made it out alive, or so the claim went, for the white knight drove every being that entered the house to the edge of madness and much beyond until there was nothing left of the man that once breathed.</p><p>The stories were sensationalised, of course, for many had survived. But all habitants had quit the house the same night they came, giving no reason for why other than that the white blight got what he wanted; peace and quiet and another tenant gone, but that was where they had it wrong.</p><p>The quaint mansion had a rich history of nobility, only later gaining the name of ‘Pandora’ after the woman who was too curious for own good. Before that it was known as a summer retreat for a certain family and the children, a house of good standing and blightless name at the foot of the village from which it stood. A house belonging to a family that once had an odd knight with white hair and red eyes, like a winter rabbit born and bred selectively for their abomination. And like how these stories often started, this legend sprung from there as well. The odd knight was whom the people believed to the white spectre that clung to the structures of Pandora’s house.</p><p>But that was where similarity diverged for then the story sprung forth into many different versions. Some telling tales of madness and murder, others more grotesque, claiming tall stories of occult, but all seemed to agree. The family left, or they disappeared, for no body was found, but the spectre remained, waiting for his lord and lady to return, defending the place to which he was bound from all he deemed an intruder. It turned the house into a hateful object, for it stood empty as it was imposing, with many a few spitting over the shoulder onto the porch to dispel the bad luck it was said to ooze.</p><p>“Hello ghost.” It wasn’t the first time that he had been addressed in such a way. There were quite a few brave souls that had braved themselves into the house, challenging him. Some of them on a dare, a test of their bravery, others in a painstaking attempt to prove everyone wrong about his existence, about the stories that surrounded the house. So many stories, all of them involving him, always seeking him. You were no different.</p><p>And so he simply smiled, cocking his head to the side as he smiled that unsettling smile, the bangs of his hair falling over one eye and then revealing the empty one. That usually startled them, it was the first test.</p><p>“What is your name? Or do you fancy ‘ghost’?” came the next question and that single red eye glared at you, confusion evident on the expression of the ghost before another creepy smile crawled over his face, a low chuckle escaping him.</p><p>“This cursed name?” he responded, “why not give me yours instead?” How he hated those adventure seekers. How he detested those types that believed themselves to be braver than all. He wasn’t there for them, did they not understand?</p><p>You didn’t as you shrugged your shoulder, easily giving your name to the spectre, clearly either unafraid or ignorant of what an otherbeing was capable of doing once it got the true name of a human.</p><p>He wasn’t the same, however, luckily, he wasn’t one of those as he tasted your name on his lips, sitting down on the bannister, hand propped on his chin as he stayed afloat easily, balance not a worry on his mind.</p><p>“And what brings you here?” he had asked and you frowned, a pout on your lips as you crossed your arms, clearly displeased with something. For a bit the ghost had a memory of the past, of a time when he wasn’t stuck here in this cursed place. Memories that were rapidly fading as the spectre was forgetting why he was here.</p><p>You make another shrug, approaching him as you tested the bannister he had sat himself upon, testing it for its strength before deciding to lean against it yourself, facing the opposite direction that he was faced to. “I have always wanted to speak to a ghost,” came your simple answer and the white spectre wasn’t sure what to make of that, another wry smile escaping him as he brings his hands together, the chains on his wrist clanging with every movement. It was the only solid part to him.</p><p>“And why is that?” he questions, finally curious about your appearance, finally convinced that you weren’t just there out of sheer facetious bravery most visitors deluded themselves into.</p><p>To this once more you show practicality as you shrug once more, turning around as you lean back on the bannister now and stare into the wall ahead, cobwebbed and dusty, old and musky.</p><p>“Ghosts have stories. They always do.”</p><p>And this was a truth, at least for him, for the white spectre wasn’t sure about other ghosts, but he knew himself to be. Chained to a story, chained to a truth, chained to this rotten existence in which he seemed to startle all out of the house.</p><p>“And why should I tell you mine?” he asks instead, not convinced about that either until you turn to him, facing his red eye with your fierce look and you scoff when there is a look of surprise on his otherwise apathetic expression.</p><p>“Either that or your name, how about that?” you offer, and to this the white spectre of Pandora truly had no other choice but to relent to a human who was perhaps a little too wilful for their own good.</p>
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